Chapter 7
SEVEN
SAVANNAH
The air hits me the second we step outside. It’s colder than it was when we came in, the kind of chill that sneaks under your clothes and settles against your skin. I pull my arms in without thinking, breath fogging faintly in front of me.
Lucky notices immediately. He doesn’t comment on it. He just turns, pops open one of the saddlebags, and pulls out a jacket like this was always part of the plan.
“Here,” he says.
Before I can argue, he steps closer and eases it over my shoulders. His movements are unhurried, careful. He waits for me to slide my arms into the sleeves, then tugs the collar up, fingers brushing my neck.
It smells like him. Leather and something clean underneath it.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Thank you.”
He gives me a small look, like that answer matters more than it should, then reaches for my helmet.
“Hold still,” he says.
I do.
He lifts it and settles it over my head, the same way he did earlier. Slow. Intentional. His hands linger just long enough to make my pulse jump, thumbs adjusting the padding, fingers gentle as he fastens the strap under my chin.
“You good?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm.”
I hear the faint click as the comm connects. His voice comes through again, close and steady. “Same rules as before.”
I smile inside the helmet. “I trust you.”
He pauses for half a second. Then, quieter, “I know.”
The ride back is different.
Still fun. Still thrilling in that way that makes my breath catch when we accelerate, when the road curves and the world tilts. But it’s softer now. Easier. I settle against him without thinking, my arms wrapping around his waist like that’s where they belong.
The vibration of the bike hums through me, familiar now. Comforting.
We don’t talk much. We don’t need to.
The night air slips past us, cool and clean, and I let myself relax into the rhythm of it. The rise and fall of his breathing. The way he moves like the bike is an extension of him. The way I don’t feel nervous anymore.
Just… held.
When we roll back into town, I almost wish the ride were longer.
He pulls up beside my car and kills the engine. The sudden quiet presses in around us, my ears still buzzing from the ride.
“Hold on,” he says.
He swings off first, steadying the bike with one hand before turning back to me. His hands come to my waist, firm and sure, and he guides me down, helping me clear the seat and land on solid ground.
For a second, he doesn’t let go.
My boots hit the pavement, and I realize how close we are now.
No bike between us. No helmet. Just him, standing right there.
He closes the distance in two strides and catches my wrist, guiding me back until my hips bump the side of my car.
The metal is cool through my jeans. His body brackets mine, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, the steady strength in the way he plants one hand beside my head.
He leans down and claims my mouth, and the sound that breaks from my throat is embarrassingly needy.
His hands fist in my hair, not gentle now, tipping my head back as he kisses me again like he’s done waiting.
I open for him without hesitation, my tongue sliding against his, the kiss turning deep and slow and dizzying.
He steps into me, crowding me back against the car until there’s nowhere to go, his body hard and solid against mine. I feel him everywhere. Heat. Pressure. The unmistakable promise in the way he holds me there like he’s daring me to pull away.
I can’t.
The kiss devours me. It’s messy and consuming and so hot it steals my breath, my thoughts scattering until there’s nothing left but his mouth and the way my body responds like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.
I clutch at his jacket, needing something to hold onto, needing him. The world fades out entirely, leaving only the two of us pressed together, breathing the same air, caught in something that feels inevitable and dangerous and so, so good.
“How was that?” he asks, voice low. “Pretty great?”
I can’t help it. I laugh, breathless, and that earns me another kiss. Shorter this time. Just as lethal.
“Yeah, biker boy,” I murmur against his mouth. “Pretty damn great.”
That pulls a small smile from him. Not cocky. Satisfied.
He steps back, but only far enough to reach for the jacket draped over my shoulders. Instead of taking it, he adjusts it, tugging it closer around me like he’s making sure I’m actually warm.
“Come on,” he says quietly.
He walks me to my door and opens it, one hand settling at my lower back, guiding me as I slide into the seat.
My heart is still racing. My lips are still tingling.
He waits as I buckle my seatbelt. The click sounds louder than it should.
Only then does he lean in, one hand braced on the doorframe. “Text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
He nods once, satisfied, then closes the door gently, like I’m something worth taking care of. Like I matter.
I start the car and pull out of the spot, glancing in the mirror before I turn onto the road. He’s still there, standing beside his bike, watching.
I get home, pulling into my driveway ten minutes later, and walk inside to find my two boys glaring at me.
Psycho is perched on the back of the couch like a gargoyle, green eyes narrowed, tail flicking in slow, judgmental arcs. Menace sits on the coffee table directly in my path, round and fluffy and deeply unimpressed, blocking my way like a tiny, furry bouncer.
“Oh don’t start,” I tell them, toeing off my shoes. “I was gone for, like, an hour.”
Psycho chirps sharply, hopping down and stalking toward me with exaggerated slowness. Menace lets out a low, offended mrrrp, like I personally wronged him.
I drop my keys on the counter. “You were fed. You have water. You have toys. You were fine.”
Menace flops dramatically onto his side, belly exposed, staring at me upside down like a Victorian child with the vapors.
“This is emotional manipulation,” I say.
Psycho circles my legs, sniffing my jeans, my jacket, my boots. He freezes. His head snaps up. His eyes narrow further.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “Don’t you dare.”
He sniffs again. Then he looks at me.
Judging. Hard.
“That’s not even fair,” I argue. “It’s not like I brought him home.”
Menace launches himself at my calf and clings there, claws gentle but insistent, like he’s filing a formal complaint.
I sigh and crouch down, rubbing both of them at once. “You are still my favorite men,” I tell them. “Relax.”
Psycho headbutts my chin like he’s marking me back as his. Menace purrs, instantly forgiving, because of course he does.
I sink onto the couch, jacket still around my shoulders, lips still tingling, heart still doing that stupid, floaty thing. Psycho hops up beside me. Menace curls into my lap like nothing in the world has ever been wrong.
I stare at the ceiling, smiling to myself.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell them quietly. “It was just a date.”
Psycho’s tail flicks again.
Menace purrs louder.
And somehow, between the warmth of their weight and the echo of Lucky’s kiss still living on my mouth, home has never felt more like exactly where I’m supposed to be.
My phone buzzes again.
Biker Boy: You good?
Psycho lifts his head like he’s offended by the interruption. Menace doesn’t even bother opening his eyes.
Me: Yeah. I’m home.
The reply comes fast.
Biker Boy: Good.
Biker Boy: Took you a minute.
I smile to myself.
Me: I had to convince the boys I didn’t abandon them forever.
Three dots appear.
They disappear.
They come back.
Biker Boy: …the boys?
I bite my lip.
Me: Relax.
Another pause. Longer.
Biker Boy: Savannah.
I laugh quietly.
Me: Wow. That tone.
Biker Boy: I don’t love not knowing who “the boys” are.
I glance down at Psycho, who is now staring at me like he senses he’s involved in something important.
Me: They’re small. Furry. Extremely judgmental. Enjoy belly rubs.
A beat.
Biker Boy: …
Biker Boy: You’re fucking with me.
Me: A little.
Biker Boy: Savannah.
I grin, rubbing Menace’s belly as he purrs louder and send him a picture of them sitting side by side.
Me: My cats. Psycho and Menace.
Another pause.
Biker Boy: Those are terrible names.
Me: They earned them.
Biker Boy: I’m gonna need to meet them eventually.
Heat curls low in my stomach at that.
I stare at the screen for a second, then type before I can overthink it.
Me: Hey… thanks for trusting me with the tattoo.
The dots appear almost immediately.
Biker Boy: Yeah.
Biker Boy: Thanks for not putting stupid shit on me.
I laugh out loud, the sound startling both cats.
Me: You’re welcome. I showed incredible restraint.
Biker Boy: Don’t get used to it.
Me: Too late.
Biker Boy: Night, Firecracker.
Biker Boy: I’ll text you tomorrow.
Me: Good night, biker boy ??
I set the phone face-down on my chest, still smiling.
Psycho settles against my side. Menace kneads my stomach like he’s claiming me back. “Relax,” I tell them softly. “He’s not a threat.” They purr anyway.
“Bitch,” Lena says the second I answer, “why haven’t I heard from you in over twenty-four hours?”
I laugh, already shaking my head. God, I love her. “Do you remember that biker from Jake’s the other night?”
“Yessss,” she drawls. “Why? Did you have hot biker sex and not tell me?”
That sets me off again. “Psssh. I wish. But…”
“But what?” she demands. “Why are you dragging this out? Spill the tea, Savannah.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, laughing. “Jesus. So we made a bet that night. If our team won, I got to pick his tattoo. If they won, he got to pick mine. And you know we won.”
“Uh-huh,” she says. “This is the boring part. Fast-forward.”
“I gave him my number,” I continue. “He texted me that night, and let’s just say… the man knows how to text.”
“Shut up,” she gasps. “Did he send you a dick pic?”
I’m laughing so hard I have to wipe at my eyes. “No. No dick pics.”
“Disappointing.”
“But,” I add, “I did get a picture of his abs. And they were… delicious.”
A beat.
“We sexted,” I admit.
Silence.
Then, “No you didn’t. People don’t do that anymore.”
“Fuck you,” I say. “Yes, we did.”
“Show me,” she demands immediately.
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re no fun,” she says. “Is that it?”
“No,” I say, smiling like an idiot. “That’s not it, you little shit. We met up yesterday. He got the tattoo I picked out, and oh my God, it was his first tattoo.”
“What did you pick?” she asks, suddenly very serious.
“He keeps calling me Firecracker,” I say. “So I had Cole put a flame on his arm.”
I sigh dreamily. “It somehow made him even hotter.”
Lena lets out a low whistle. “Yeah… you’re doomed.”
“And then,” I say, pacing my living room because sitting feels impossible, “after the tattoo, he takes me for a ride on his bike.”
Lena makes a noise. “Of course he did.”
“To this little BBQ place outside of town,” I continue. “Middle of nowhere. Amazing ribs. Very date-coded.”
“Uh-huh,” she says. “I’m listening.”
“So we’re sitting there, laughing, having a good time, and these two women come over. Start all polite, asking questions, pretending they’re just making conversation.”
“Were they hot?” Lena asks immediately.
“Yes,” I snap. “That’s not the point.”
“Just establishing the threat level.”
“They straight-up ask if I’m his sister.”
“Oh hell no.”
“I know,” I say. “And then one of them tries to give him her number. Slides it across the table like I’m invisible.”
Lena gasps. “What did he do?”
“He pushed it back at her,” I say, grinning like an idiot all over again. “Told them he was on a date and they needed to leave.”
“SHUT UP.”
“I swear. No hesitation. Just… done. And then,” I say, lowering my voice even though no one’s here, “We ride back to town. He helps me off his bike and walks me to my car, then he kisses me.”
“Savannah.”
“Against my car,” I add, because I’m not strong enough not to. “Like, hands in my hair, zero doubt, end-of-a-romance-movie kiss.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Lena screams. “You cannot just drop that on me and expect me to survive,” she says. “Are you breathing? Do you need medical attention?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I mean, I wasn’t fine at the time, but I’m alive.”
She exhales dramatically. “Okay. So. Let me get this straight. Hot biker. Tattoos. Sexting. Motorcycle ride. Public shutdown of other women. Car kiss.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re telling me this man didn’t come inside?”
“No,” I say quickly. “He opened my car door, waited until I buckled my seatbelt, and didn’t leave until I drove off.”
Another pause. “Savannah,” she says slowly, “that man is dangerous.”
I sink onto the couch, smiling at nothing. “I know.”
“And you like him.”
I don’t even pretend to deny it. “Yeah. I do.”
She hums, satisfied. “Good. Because I’m already emotionally invested.”
I laugh, pressing my phone to my chest. “Same.”
“So,” Lena says, clearly gearing up for chaos, “when are you seeing him again?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “We haven’t gotten that far yet.”
A beat. Then, “We should go to Perdition and check him out in his natural habitat.”
I stop pacing. “His natural habitat?”
“Yeah,” she says. “See what he’s like when you’re not around.”
I blink. “Are you suggesting we spy on him?”
“Duh.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Lena.”
“You can wear one of my wigs,” she barrels on. “I’ve got that black one that hits your shoulders. Makes you look stupid hot. Pair it with that black leather skirt and boots. I’ll do your makeup. He won’t recognize you.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” I say, even as my stomach flips.
“It’ll be fun,” she insists. “Worst case scenario, we drink and people-watch. Best case, you confirm he’s still hot from a distance.”
“I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this,” I mutter. “What if he recognizes me?”
She laughs. “Please. Men barely recognize women with different lip gloss.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It should be,” she says. “Now stop overthinking and tell me what time we’re going.”
I groan, already knowing how this ends.